by Angela Hunt
But Thomas understood me, and I him. We had endured the same life experiences, so we had been molded together. And neither of us would ever need anyone else.
The crickets had gone to bed by the time I finished cleaning the cooking area at the rear of the courtyard. The local guests had gone home, while those who had come from a distance were sleeping anywhere they could find a place to stretch out. People loved a wedding, and though local guests split their time between the celebration and tending to their animals, children, and work, others traveled from miles away and enjoyed staying overnight, even if it meant sleeping on the floor.
Thomas, Dinah, Abba, and I were staying at our host’s home because we would be working late and rising early to tend to the guests’ needs. Before heading to the house, I checked the basement where the groom’s father had stored the wine. He had purchased seven barrels for the seven-day feast; we emptied three of them on the first day. Only four remained, yet the feast was far from over . . .
Thomas should have spoken to Etan’s father, but I had not seen him for hours.
Inside the house, I found one of the hired servants and shook her awake. “I am placing you in charge of the wine,” I whispered. “At sunrise, when you fill your pitchers, make sure the pitcher is one-quarter—no, halfway filled with water. Do not let the guests know what you are doing. If we are fortunate, and if the guests are content, perhaps they will not notice that the quality of the wine has suffered.”
The girl chewed her lower lip for a moment, then nodded.
“Rest well,” I told her, lifting my lamp. “Tomorrow will be another busy day.”
I walked to the back of the house, where Dinah had bedded down on a thick pile of blankets. She was on her back and snoring when I stretched out beside her, but she woke when I released an exhausted sigh. “Tasmin?”
“I’m here.”
“Good.” She rolled onto her side to face me. “You worked late. You must be tired.”
“I am.”
“You should take some time to enjoy the guests. A wedding should be a celebration, even for those who have to work. After all, Galya is a friend of yours, no?”
“She is. So I will try, Aunt.” I folded my hands over my stomach and stared at the ceiling beams. My aunt probably wanted to share all the gossip she’d gathered from the other women—
“It was good to see Mary,” she said, pillowing her cheek on her hands. “I haven’t seen her in years. How strange to see her children now. The youngest was all arms and legs when I last saw him; now he is a man.”
“Hmm. Her husband was a carpenter, no?”
“A good one. Mary hopes her younger sons will continue in the trade. They have taken over Joseph’s business, but she does not think carpentry suits them. Their hearts, she says, are not in the work.”
I stifled a yawn. “Why doesn’t the older one take his father’s place?”
“Yeshua?”
“Isn’t he the eldest?”
“He has done much of the work since Joseph’s death—in fact, she says, he is the most skilled of them all, especially with carving. But Mary thinks he is destined for something else. She says HaShem has a special plan for him.”
I snorted a laugh. “He seems to have a gift for attracting strangers. We used three times as much wine as expected, thanks to the crowd who came with him. Why are so many men following in his wake? Even Thomas seemed captivated by him.”
Dinah chuckled. “His brothers aren’t captivated, I assure you. I was talking with James and Jude, and they think their brother is odd. His sisters think he’s spoiled.”
“Spoiled?”
“Anyone can see his mother favors him. Whatever he says, she does. Pheodora, the youngest girl, says Mary thinks Yeshua can do no wrong.”
My heavy eyelids scraped like sandpaper over my tired eyes. “Really.”
“He is not married,” Dinah went on. “And he’s thirty years old.”
“Hmmm.” I could not summon the energy to reply with words.
“You should be thinking about marriage,” Dinah continued. “And Thomas, too, though it always seems to take sons longer to come around to it. He will have to build a home for his bride, take over the family business . . . But if you should happen to wed one of Mary’s sons, Nazareth is not far away.”
“Aunt Dinah?”
“Yes?”
“I need to sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
I heard a sigh, then felt her hand cup my cheek. “Sleep well, dear girl. We will speak again in the morning.”
I did not want to talk about marriage now or ever, so when daylight broke, I would rise before Dinah and go straight to work.
CHAPTER TWO
Tasmin
I wiped my hands on my apron and blew out a breath, blowing away the frizzy hank of hair that kept escaping my braid. The butcher was supposed to deliver a skinned goat after sunrise, and though I had started the fire and assembled the spit, I still had no goat for the second-day dinner.
I turned, narrowing my eyes, and spotted Thomas laughing with the men from Nazareth.
“Thomas!”
He turned at the sound of my voice and came over. “Sorry,” he said, flushing. “What do you need me to do?”
“Everything.” I blew hair out of my eyes again, then gestured to the fire. “I need you to make sure the coals stay hot while I search for our goat. I also seem to be out of leaven, which I’ll need for the bread. And don’t mention it to anyone, but we are watering down the wine today.”
Thomas made a face. “What if Etan notices?”
“If he says something to you, remind him it was his guest who brought so many people that we had to use three barrels on the first day.” I propped my hands on my hips and looked around. Outside the small area that served as my kitchen, the out-of-town guests were munching on the fruit I had set on trays and dispersed around the garden. The local guests, thank heaven, had slept in their own beds and would eat food from their own kitchens.
“So”—I turned back to my brother—“would you rather mind the fire or go check on the meat and leaven?”
He looked from the fire to the guests, then back at me. “I’ll tend the fire. And I’ll keep an eye on the wine.”
“Good. All right.” I pulled off my apron, tossed it onto the table, and hastily smoothed my hair. “People will be ready to eat by the sixth hour and I’m afraid nothing will be ready—”
Thomas lifted his hand, silently shushing me. “Don’t worry,” he said, understanding flickering in his eyes. “Everything will be fine, and I’ll handle things here. Has Etan’s father ordered more wine?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure he can afford to buy more.”
“Then the situation can’t be helped. And don’t worry about the leaven—people eat flatbread, too. Serve that, and they won’t know you had something else in mind.”
Bless him; my brother had a gift for helping me think more clearly. As my anxiety drained away, I blinked back unshed tears and managed a small smile. “Right.” My voice cracked on the word. “I’ll go check on the butcher.”
“I’ll be here.”
Fortunately, I knew the butcher well, and the man’s home was not far from Etan’s. I lengthened my stride, carefully avoiding uneven areas in the street and nodding to familiar faces who were returning to the wedding feast. By midday the crowd might be larger than it had been on the first day.
I walked through the butcher’s gate and looked around. Nothing moved in the small courtyard save a pair of nesting hens, who cocked their heads and warily eyed me as I walked to the door. “Butcher!” I called, rapping with my knuckles. “Etan the bridegroom needs meat for his feast!”
The door opened, but the butcher did not answer my call. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with the man’s wife, who regarded me with bleary eyes.
“We . . . are not well,” she said, one pale hand clutching a shawl around her shoulders. “We were up all night . . . Something we ate.”<
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I took a half step back. “But you are supposed to deliver a goat to the wedding feast this morning. The fire is ready.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You cannot expect my husband to work today. You will have to find another butcher.”
“Here?” In a fit of exasperation I turned toward the street, looked left and right, and held up empty hands. “There is no other butcher in Cana!”
“Try Nazareth,” the woman said, slowly closing the door. “Or Tiberias. But you will get no meat from us today.”
I heard her latch the door, then turned and walked out to the street. The hour was yet early; the sun had only begun to climb the eastern sky. I could go back to the wedding and tell Thomas to douse the fire and find some salted fish . . . or I could send him to the butcher in Nazareth.
In either case, I would have to hurry.
The dancing had begun by the time I returned. As musicians played the lyre, cornet, flute, and cymbals, the men linked their arms around each other’s shoulders and made a colorful, dizzying circle around the bridegroom. Thomas lifted his chin when I waved for his attention, then continued to dance.
Forced to wait, I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. I glanced toward the fire, where the once-hot logs had gone dark. No matter—better to let them cool, because they would never remain hot until Thomas returned from Nazareth with meat for our dinner.
I sighed and studied the dancing men. Too many guests and not enough food. Perhaps some of our out-of-town visitors would go home early? I searched for signs of boredom, but Mary’s sons and sons-in-law were among the most eager dancers. The eldest, Yeshua, seemed particularly enthusiastic. His eyes snapped as he danced, his head tilting back as laughter bubbled up from his throat. Did his passion spring from his happiness for the groom, or did he always overflow with the joy of life?
Finally the music ended, the musicians stood, and the circle of dancers broke up, some moving to congratulate the groom again, others heading toward the tables that offered fruit and pitchers of wine.
I walked directly to Thomas, who stood apart from the others like an overgrown boy afraid to join a group of strangers.
“The butcher is sick,” I told him, getting straight to the point, “so we’ll need to get meat from Nazareth. Will you go? If you leave now, you can be back before midday, which gives me time to boil the meat and serve a stew.”
Thomas tilted his head and gave me an uncertain look. “Must we have meat? We could serve cheese and bread—”
“Not for a wedding dinner. I need meat, and Nazareth is the closest place to find it.”
“Can’t we find a family in Cana who would sell us a goat? We could do the butchering behind the house . . .”
I moved closer to him. “My livelihood,” I reminded him, lowering my voice, “comes from arranging the details of wedding feasts. What family in Cana would hire me if it were known that I had to beg for meat on the second day of a celebration?”
“But it is not your fault—”
I shook my head. “No matter. I will not have anyone think I neglected my planning. I will get meat from Nazareth and no one will know the difference.”
Thomas looked toward the other men, who were gathering around Mary’s oldest son. “Fine, but I don’t want to leave. Could you find someone else to go?”
I laughed to cover my annoyance. “Would you have me send our aged father? Or perhaps Aunt Dinah?”
“Well—”
“Why don’t you want to go? Etan’s father hired us—both of us—to work at this feast, and now you don’t want to do the work.”
“I am the headwaiter, not the errand boy.”
“And I am?”
“You could go. It’s not so long a journey.”
His words dropped into the space between us like stones, leaving me shocked and irritated. “Yes, I could go, but you would have to see to everything else. And I still don’t understand why you won’t do this for me. Have you hurt your foot? Are you in some kind of pain?”
A tide of red crept up his throat. “I know you won’t understand, but I want to stay and listen to Yeshua. He has fascinating ideas.”
I stared at my brother, surprise siphoning the blood from my head. Thomas had always been a thinker and sometime-philosopher, but never had I heard him express interest in hearing from a Galilean. The sages? Yes. The Greeks? Yes. A Nazarene? Never.
“What,” I asked, my voice trembling with repressed anger, “has he said that fascinates you so?”
Thomas glanced around, then pulled me away from the others. When he was certain no one could overhear, he crossed his arms. “He said we should pray for Caesar.”
I winced. “As when David prayed, ‘O God, break their teeth in their mouths’?”
Thomas shook his head. “He said we should pray for Caesar so we could live in peace. He said we should pray for all in authority.”
I drew in a sharp breath. “I think you should go to Nazareth instead of listening to such nonsense.”
“I’m not going, Tasmin, not when I could be listening to Yeshua. I’ll do whatever you need me to do here, but I don’t want to leave.”
I stared at him, perplexed and more than a little frustrated by his answer. Thomas and I were not always in perfect agreement, but never had he flatly refused one of my requests.
“All right,” I finally said. “I’ll go. But I’ll need an escort, so I will leave that to you. And I need to go soon, so please take care of this.”
“Never fear,” Thomas said, already looking at Yeshua. “I will take care of everything.”
I drew a long, quivering breath, struggling to master the anger that had nearly spoiled my day. Thomas did not want to leave the wedding—fine. Perhaps I should be relieved, because now he would be overseeing the many details while I enjoyed a nice walk to Nazareth. He would sit with a group of sweating, belching men while I inhaled fresh air and stretched my legs.
Perhaps I would get the best part of the bargain.
I checked on the servants, set out more fruit and cheese, and pulled a scarf over my head to block the sun on the hour-long walk. By the time I returned to Thomas, a man and woman stood with him. I had seen them with Mary, but both were strangers to me.
Thomas greeted me with a broad smile, then gestured to the couple. “Damaris and her brother Jude are willing to walk to Nazareth with you. They are children of Aunt Dinah’s friend Mary.”
Damaris clasped my hands in a warm grip. “I am glad you need to go to Nazareth.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I am with child again, and my husband has given me leave to return home. All this merriment is too much for me.”
I squeezed her hands. “Are you all right? Should you be walking?”
She smiled. “I walked every day with the first five, so I will be fine. And when we get home, I’ll be able to rest. That’s what I need most.”
Five children? She couldn’t be more than twenty-six or twenty-seven.
I glanced at her brother, who did not appear thrilled to be leaving the wedding. “I am sorry to ask this of you,” I said, “but my father will not let me leave Cana without an escort. He has heard too many stories of bandits.”
“I understand,” Jude said, his voice gruff. “And if there is nothing else to discuss, let us be on our way. I want to get Damaris home.”
We set off at a brisk pace, quickly leaving Cana behind. I had not often traveled the narrow path that lay between our two cities, but the scenery held no surprises. The land outside Cana was hilly, dotted with low brush, and looked as though an archangel had opened his mighty hand and spilled rocks over the terrain. Few trees grew in the area, and those that did manage to take root were sturdy—tamarisk and palms and terebinth.
“So,” Damaris said, adjusting her headscarf to block the morning sun, “I suppose you and your brother are friends of the groom? You seem to be about the same age.”
“We are.” I surveyed the horizon, where scrubby trees rose above the flat line
of the earth. “Etan and my brother attended Torah school together.”
Jude grunted. “I studied Torah with my brothers, and we were always competing. I’d memorize one passage and someone else another, and then we’d see who could recite without making a mistake. I did well, but Yeshua never missed a word.”
I cast the man a sidelong look. “My brother seems fascinated by him.”
Jude sighed. “Many are, and I wish I understood why. He is a man like any other, but when he speaks—” he paused and gave a shrug—“you’ve seen how they listen. I don’t understand it.”
“My brother says Yeshua wants us to pray for Caesar.”
“And your brother agrees?”
“I don’t know. Thomas is not the sort to make quick judgments. But those other men seem to have accepted what Yeshua says.”
For the first time, Jude looked directly at me. “Did you meet Andrew? He was a disciple of John the Immerser. John said his work—baptizing people as a sign of repentance—was only a taste of what would soon come.”
“We all know HaShem is going to send a king to release us from Roman tyranny. We have been waiting ever since the return from exile.”
Jude nodded. “Exactly. But Andrew and the others believe my brother is the promised One.”
I took a wincing breath. “The one—those men believe your brother is the messiah?”
“They are convinced of it.” Jude shook his head. “Andrew was with the Immerser the day Yeshua went to the Jordan and asked John to perform his mikvah. John didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, but Yeshua said he wanted to be baptized as a sign—to give Adonai an opportunity to show His glory. As if Adonai needed any help.”
I laughed and waited for more, but Jude did not seem inclined to elaborate. “Well, what happened?”
He drew an exasperated breath. “Depends on who you ask. Andrew says Yeshua went down into the waters and came up, then the clouds blew apart and the Ruach Elohim descended like a dove and sat on Yeshua’s shoulder. Then he heard a voice from heaven saying, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased!’”